No Fear, Darling
by Lillibella
Summary: Irene Adler has Sherlock. River Song has the Doctor. Neither truly have their men. But they have each other. Their friendship through hardships. "No fear, darling. All comes to light in due time." Sherlock/Doctor Who Crossover. No slash.
1. Life

**Hi!**

**First thing: **I don't actually ship Irene/Sherlock or River/11, but this idea appeared in my head and wouldn't go away. And although I don't ship, it makes perfect material.

**Second thing:** ENJOY! Please read and review. It gives me great joy.

**Disclaimer:** **Neither of these wonderful creations are mine. At all. **

**SPOILERS: Sherlock Season 2, and Doctor Who Season 6.**

**Ta,**

**~Lillibella**

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**"Laugh as much as you breathe, and love as long as you live."**

Irene traced her fingers down the stem of the crystal wine glass, examining her reflection in the bowl. Her long hair was long gone, replaced by a dark pixie cut. She still wasn't used to it. She ran her other hand through it, down the back of her neck, and sighed.

"Hello, Sweetie."

Her ruby lips curved upwards.

"I believe that title belongs to someone else, Ms. Song."

Irene finally looked up. Standing there, in her oh-so-beautiful silver gown, was the only woman she could trust nowadays. Her blonde hair was as curly as ever, but tame enough for the likes of a restaurant such as this. Irene motioned towards the empty chair across from her.

"Please," she said. River inclined her head and took a seat.

"This seems a little overt, if you ask me," she commented, of course referring to the blood red number Irene wore. She raised an eyebrow.

"I lost my identity, River, not my flair for the dramatic." The blonde chuckled. She motioned to a young waiter loitering by the girl at the cash.

"Can we have another glass to go with this bottle? Thanks," she said as the waiter nodded and left to retrieve it. River turned back to Irene and rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands under her chin.

"I convinced him to drop me off here for a while. Said an old friend was in distress." She gazed steadily at Irene. The latter shook her head and looked down.

"How do you always know when to find me?"

River just smiled. Right. So she still wouldn't get an answer. Of course. The waiter returned with a fresh wine glass. River winked at him. The young man's eyes widened, and he quickly scurried away, back to the gum-chewing girl at the counter. Irene laughed. They were two beautiful women. If they wanted privacy, they could get it.

"Oh River, if only I was your type," Irene drawled, making River laugh.

"So how are you holding up, hm? Get a job yet?" She inquired. Irene sighed.

"Of course. I am Jane Forrester, in Sales at the mall down the street."

"Having fun?"

"Not in the slightest. You can't _play _in Sales. No negotiation, no manipulation. They kill you if you try to make a practical joke," she complained, taking a sip of her wine, "I prefer my previous line of work."

"Which, the con-artist or the dominatrix?"

"Can't I have a little of both?" she asked innocently, and laughed. God, how she loved River's company. Turning the least bit of home-sickness into some excuse for a wine-drinking get-together. "Quite seriously, I'd rather be up there with the big dogs, politics or business or such. But no, _someone _says I have to 'stay out of the eye of the media.'" Irene rolled her eyes.

River said nothing. She raised her glass to her lips, never breaking eye contact. There was silence between them for a moment, only the faint music of a violin piece in the background.

Ah, the violin...

"I miss London," Irene declared suddenly.

"Do you miss London, or him?" River asked seriously. Irene dipped her head, smiling sadly.

"Can't I have a little of both?" She said in a small voice. Again there was a pause.

"He's fine, by the way. He's getting more attention now. Ha, talk about staying out of the eye of the media. Hypocrite. We're even getting stories about him over here. He and John are gallivanting about. He recently had something to do with some stolen painting. What was it...Some place in Switzerland... Reich... Reichenbach! That's was it was. The Reichenbach Falls. They're calling him the Reichenbach Hero."

Irene glanced up at River just in time to see a flicker of...was that...Guilt? Sadness? Something seemed to shadow her face for a moment, but passed just as quickly as it came on.

"A hero, hm? That suits him," she said, smiling. Irene was wary for a moment, but nodded back.

"What about your man?" she asked, "What have you been up to?" River's eyes flashed, and she took hold of her wine glass again.

"Well, that's a story. He died, and then came back."

"_WHAT-?"_

"_Now keep your voice down! _No need to shout," River countered the violent reaction of the dark haired woman across from her. Irene leaned forward, whispering fervently.

"That's a reason to shout! He did _what?"_

"We were on a picnic. He was shot. We burnt his body. Went to a diner, he was there."

"I hope you slapped him."

"I did. Crazy thing was, an astronaut killed him. A 1960's astronaut came out of the lake. Shot him dead. Next thing we know, he's talking about some sort of straw adding fizz to his drink."

"Alright, now you're just speaking nonsense. I'm used to you talking about the future, and the past, but this? If you die, you die! You don't come back!"

"I don't think he came back, exactly..." River's head dipped closer to her wineglass, breaking eye contact for the first time in ages. Something in her gaze softened, and did not pass. Irene at once knew something here was complicated.

"Should I even ask, River?" she said softly. River gave a wan smile.

"Oh, never mind. Wibbley-wobbley, timey-wimey," she said, chuckling a bit. "He is dead. Just...not yet."

Although this didn't clear much up, Irene took the uncharacteristic vulnerability of River as a sign of something very difficult to come. Irene leaned forward and took River's hand across the table. She squeezed it, and River looked up, struggling to keep emotion from finding its way to her face. Irene smiled reassuringly.

"No fear, darling."

That was all she said, and River smiled in return. She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a loud crash from the vicinity of the kitchen, followed by some curses in Italian and a distinctly English voice apologizing profusely. Irene raised an eyebrow. River closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Well, that's him. I'd best be off before he poisons the pudding," she announced, standing up and letting go of Irene's hand.

"What are you up to now?" Irene asked as River took the last sip of her wine.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I'll save him once or twice. The usual." Irene laughed. River smiled and started to leave, but paused and turned back.

"No fear, Irene. Remember that," she said, and smiled sadly. Irene's eyebrows creased, puzzled.

"Yes, no fear," she replied, although she wasn't sure if she was speaking about River, or herself.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Ms. Adler."

"'Til then, Ms. Song."

She watched River depart, and turned her thoughts back. Back to him.

"No fear, indeed," she whispered to herself, once again finding herself staring into her own reflection on her wine glass, "No fear, indeed."


	2. Death

**Hello All!**

**So here's chapter 2... thank you to all who reviewed/alerted/Favorited last chapter! Please continue to do so, makes me so, so happy!  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

**~Lillibella  
**

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**_"A friend who dies, it's something of you who dies." _  
**

River slowly walked across the damp grass, her black skirt just brushing the tips of the blades. She pulled her wrap closer to her body and shivered against the wind. Not once did she stop, or put her head down, or turn away. Her eyes were fixed on the solitary figure standing stock-still a ways away.

Graveyards were never her favourite places. She couldn't say that they scared her. She had seen battle. But as she walked among the headstones she could not help but feel guilty. Again, she had seen battle. No doubt she had put more than a few people underneath large, stone tablets, some of them unnamed.

Still, this trip was not about her. It was about _her._ She stopped a few feet away from the woman, and stood silently for a few moments.

"He wrote me letters."

Irene's voice wavered. She still hadn't turned around. River raised her head.

"He wrote me letters, River. The man who calls his best friend across London to borrow his phone to send a text, because he didn't want to speak on the landline, took the time to write me letters."

River opened her mouth, but found no words. She approached her friend slowly, until they were side by side, staring at the glossy, black headstone.

"Some were just case summaries," Irene continued, "Some were three words long. 'I found my other shoe' was a favorite. But some of them...some of them were real letters. He described life outside of cases. Arguments with John. Progress of Moriarty. He would ask me questions. _Questions, _River. He doesn't ask questions without good reason. But with me..." she stopped. They stood in silence for who knows how long, until Irene spoke again.

"You told me to remember. No fear." She finally turned her head towards River. The expression of bitterness so present on the face of her friend left River gutted.

"You knew, didn't you? You knew this was going to happen. You knew he was going to throw himself off that damn roof, and you knew he wasn't going to-" Again, she stopped short. The fire in her eyes was immediately doused by tears, spilling over onto her cheeks. River put her arms out. Irene gratefully fell into them. They both knelt onto the grass, Irene crying, River just providing stability.

"Oh, Irene. I'm sorry, I am so, so sorry. It's the rules of time travel. You can't cross into established events. He told me I couldn't warn you about it. I wanted to, I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't," River explained, rubbing circles on Irene's back. There was a deep breath from the distraught woman, trying to pull herself together.

"Why would he do this, River? Why? He loved himself too much to do it. I loved him too much to...Why?"

"I can't tell you that either, darling, I'm sorry. All will come to light in due time," River answered. It was killing her, not telling, not giving her friend an ounce of good news. The stupid, stupid rules. Irene finally moved apart from her and sniffed, wiping her eyes.

"And John. Poor, poor John. He's...he died with him that day, you know? He hasn't moved out of Baker Street, no matter how much anyone advises him to. He's barely eating anything. Just...going through the motions." River sighed. She knew that. She had seen him.

"What about Mrs. Hudson? How is she taking it?"

"Oh, as if she was his mother. She practically was. She's crying at a mention of him. John has so many cakes in his refrigerator now, courtesy of her. Along with the bag of thumbs. He still hasn't got rid of them." Irene shook her head and smiled a bit. River's eyes narrowed.

"How do you know all of this?" Irene looked up, then swiftly looked down again.

"I...I broke into their flat while they were at the funeral. I couldn't have gone to the ceremony, John would have recognized me. Which brings me...here," she finished, and stared at the gold lettering on the headstone, bringing her knees up to her chest. They sat like this in silence for a while, sometimes saying small words of reminiscence and comfort. It had started to drizzle a bit, and they were both quite wet when River finally stood up.

"Now I hate to be the one to leave first, but-"

"It's fine. You've got _him _to worry about," said Irene, motioning towards the man in the bow-tie standing against the blue box a few meters away, so out of place in the gloomy cemetery.

"Besides, I wasn't planning on leaving quite yet. I've still got this." Irene held up an envelope. "I hadn't found the time to send him my latest letter." She gave watery smile and bit her lip. River smiled back.

"No fear, darling. Remember?" she asked. Irene sighed, and nodded. River gave her one last look, and turned to leave.

As she reached the door of the blue box, he took her hand.

"Is she alright?" he asked, his voice full of concern. River looked up at him, and then over to the silhouette of a man behind a tree, watching Irene read the letter, his long coat rippling in the wind.

"She will be," she answered.

Flashbacks of burning his body at Lake Silencio creeped into her mind, and she held onto his hand tighter.

She still had him. For now.


End file.
